Poems (Greenwell)/The Kiss
For works with similar titles, see The Kiss.
THE KISS.
"She died young!"
"I think not so; her infelicity Seemed to have years too many." Webster.
I come to thee from one Thou knowest of,—I bear to thee her kiss: "No bitter words;" she said, "when I am gone Give thou but only this."
The mouth was wellnigh cold I took it from, yet hath it power to bless; The lips that sent it never moved of old Except in tenderness;
And ere they ceased to stir They trembled, as if then they strove to frame A word,—the only one 'twixt heaven and her,— Methought it was thy name.
They wore unto the last A calm, sad, twilight smile, from patience won; Her face had light on it that was not cast From joy's long-sunken sun.
She waited for a word Of Love to stay on; Hope did long endure; She waited long on Time, for she had heard His spells, though slow, were sure.
She waited; but her stroke Was heavier than her groaning; one by one All failed her: Grief was strongest, so it broke Each thing it leaned upon.
She waited long on God, And He forsook not; through the gloomy vale She leant upon His staff, until His rod Brake forth in blossoms pale.
Then did her spirit bless The gracious token; then she saw the rife Salt-crusted standing pools of bitterness Spring up to wells of life.
And Peace, a friend for years Estranged, stood by her on her dying bed: See that thou weep not o'er her grave, her tears Have long ago been shed.
She grieves not for the mould: A heavier load lay long upon her breast Than Earth, which hath been to her far more cold In waking than in rest!